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The chains of my Shroud clink together endlessly with the steady gait of my horse. The sun, a glaring eye in the sky, glints across the silver armor around me and clings the billowy dress slick against my back. The dāemon torments my limbs in its never-ending dance.

There’s something ominous about the land outside the Wall. It takes me some time to put my finger on it. There are no animals here. No birds, no squirrels, no deer. Silent except for the faint echoes of our horses’ hooves against the crisp grass. Certainly, this isn’t the land I’m being traded for, because prosperous it is not.

I haven’t been allowed on a horse for twelve long years and my legs grow sore and stiff. The soldiers speak only in murmurs. My ears prick, desperate for more information on those I’m being bartered to.

Them .

Witches , the enemies of God, who sought pacts with the devil for the powers they possess. They are said to have wrought sickness and disease, openly engaged in incest, and participated in Black Masses, where they dance naked in the dead of night and take part in orgies, among other perversions, before they call to the devil to raise the dead from their graves.

The more sinister of their deeds include kidnapping and murdering children whom they eat. They render their fat for their magical ointments—for the blood and fat of children keep them looking eternally young. If they do not get the necessary blood, then they will turn back into the grotesque shapes that practicing the occult transforms them into.

The texts say that a witch only needs think of a cow to steal milk. So great are their powers that they can bewitch you with a mere glance, and you’ll be destined to a life as their thrall, as were many of our people before Hises gifted us with the theurgynate that compels them to stay away from the Wall that guards us.

And someday, they’ll all reap eternal damnation for the atrocities they commit on the earth.

Which I suppose doesn’t make us so different.

We follow the sun across the land, breaking every so often to give our horses rest. When the Priest offers me bread and a canteen, I hide behind my horse to fish it under the chains. I peek around to ensure no one is paying me attention before tugging out the locket from the Grand Prioress and prying open the clasp to reveal a dull-looking stone. Small, round, and gray. Unusually plain for a piece of jewelry. Running a finger over the coarse stone, I note how the color reminds me vaguely of the Wall. I jerk, nearly dropping it.

Theurgynate.

The same that makes up the Wall and keeps anything containing witchcraft from treading too close. Will it keep their magic from working on me completely? This is real protection. I seal it safely back in my pocket.

My anxiety heightens, tightening around my throat like a coarse noose as the sun climbs further down to meet us at our destination on the horizon. The sun is a crown on the treetops when I finally hear the call of birds, and the dead foliage around us blooms into a vigorous green. Not too long after the birds, I spy a squirrel skittering across the tree limbs. The first animal I’ve seen all day. I can tell we’re getting closer when the soldiers around me grow restless, obvious unease in how they fidget on their saddles.

It’s the lights I spot first as we merge over a hill, and the dipping valley is revealed. Not the orange flicker of flames. These lights glow in orbs like small suns suspended above the ground. Black tents are clustered across the bottom of the valley. I see them moving in the distance as we draw nearer, and my stomach knots.

A whistle carries from their encampment, and one of our soldiers yells out a greeting in return. My heart races to a gallop as our horses slow. I clench the reins in damp palms as two figures move forward to greet us. Their forms begin to take shape, and I hold my breath, preparing myself for whatever gnarled form they will take.

Soldiers.

My eyes rake over them, searching as the two in black armor shuffle forward. Their gaits are relaxed. It’s obvious that they don’t consider us a threat in the least. I wait for their faces to turn into the grotesque shapes I envision, but they continue to look like…men.

The only noticeable difference from the two soldiers before us versus the ones I traveled here with is the cut of their hair, which is cropped closely at the sides with lines engraved in designs.

Across each of their breastplates are the faces more closely matching the grotesque shapes I expect. Each uniquely carved with long noses, mouths that are too wide and gaping black holes for eyes.

One of the soldiers steps forward and calls out a greeting to my father with a slight bow of his head that would not be deemed acceptable in Eden. I wait for my father to reprimand him, but he only grunts in response.

“We’ll take your horses and show you to your tents,” the soldier explains.

“You wish for us to dismount here? There is nothing to tether our horses to,” my father spouts, incredulity coating his tone.

I don’t miss the smile that the soldier tosses the other one before turning back to my father. “Of course, Ahrimon will take your horses,” he says with a wave of his hand as if this should be evident.

My father remains silent. We’re all wondering the same thing. How is one man going to take all of our horses? He clears his throat before bellowing out, “You heard the man.”

I hesitate as the soldiers around me begin to dismount, many still keeping a careful grasp on their reins. The witch named Ahrimon steps forward. He draws his hand into a series of shapes in quick succession, and the horses careen forward, forcing our soldiers to jump out of their path as they follow him toward the nearby Wood. I’m left with no other choice than to shuffle down from a moving horse, pulling the fabric bag the Grand Prioress stowed in the saddle bag out with me. The horses trot forward obediently as if compelled by an invisible force.

Is it like the records state? Will that same compulsion work on us? On me ? Sentenced to a life as a witch’s thrall, deprived of my own free will?